


Not That Good

by CassieIngaben



Series: An Offer You Can't Refuse [3]
Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: AU, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben
Summary: Why would someone like Dorian have anything to do with someone like him?
Relationships: Dorian Red Gloria/James, Dorian Red Gloria/Original Character(s)
Series: An Offer You Can't Refuse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825087
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8
Collections: From Eroica With Love - Groups Challenges





	Not That Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TelWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Five Lives Dorian Didn't Lead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/838409) by [TelWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/pseuds/TelWoman). 



> I recently came across TelWoman's wonderful multi-chapter AU "Five Lives Dorian Didn't Lead." In the second chapter, Dorian and James are on a cruise on Volovolonte's yacht. I wondered, "what happened before and after?" and I came up with two possible scenarios. One is "Not That Bad" & "Not That Old" and the other is "Not That Good" & "Not That Rich".
> 
> For the eroicaml mailing list 'It's Dorian's birthday' Challenge 2020.

James hadn't realised how isolated he was until he'd found Dorian. Yes, it was a pretend relationship: an unlikeable rich man and a radiantly beautiful one—hired, of course. And a very expensive hire it was. But it didn't matter so much when at night he was warm and snug in Dorian's arms; when during the day he could spend his scarce non-working time being admired, envied and complimented (in public) and treated solicitously and even kindly (in private).

At the beginning, he'd found it deeply embarrassing. It was not so much that people might know; but that he, James, knew. People were remote entities. He was not used to companionship, and he didn't mind much—he knew it was for very good reasons. Most people couldn't stand him, and he couldn't stand them. As straightforward as one and one makes two. But looking at himself in the mirror sometimes made him wonder how he'd gone from James Lindsay, the quiet, studious boy from Basingstoke to a rich sugardaddy.

Eventually, he'd got used to the idea, and decided to follow David Allbright's example. He'd had his doubts from the first time he saw Allbright clutching the arm of a much younger, stunningly beautiful thing. Then he'd heard the gossip: that it was more than the usual gold-digging. That it was a well-organised and well-laid out arrangement. James approved of well-organised and well-laid out business deals; so he had approached Allbright discreetly, and found out how these things worked. Where to look, and who to call.

* * *

The arrangement had been surprisingly smooth and tasteful, and soon he'd found himself sitting at a secluded table in one of the most elegant restaurants in London, contemplating the extremely beautiful man across the table. Who was behaving entirely unselfconsciously; impeccable manners and breeding, together with an insouciant flamboyance, made for an irresistible mix. Everything James didn't have, and wasn't. And Dorian acted as if he was delighted to spend his time with the unremarkable, awkward man sitting in front of him.

To James's surprise, their first date was just a date. They had a leisurely and very expensive meal, Dorian carrying the conversation as they lingered over coffee and brandy. Then Dorian'd smiled, got up and said: "Thank you for the dinner. It was lovely. Shall I give you a call on Thursday? Maybe we can spend the afternoon together. Or maybe the theatre. Or whatever you prefer, really."

And so on Thursday they'd gone to the theatre—James had let Dorian choose, and sat there without understanding most of what was going on on stage, partly because it was too highbrow and intricate, partly because he could feel the heat of the body sitting next to him. Dorian was apparently engrossed in the play, yet he turned towards James from time to time and smiled fondly and unaffectedly.

After the play, in the foyer, Dorian hesitated prettily and said: "We could go for an after-theatre supper. Wiltons' serves an excellent carpaccio—or there's always the Savoy. Or maybe we can take a walk, and then you can show me your flat. The moon's almost full, it's a lovely evening."

James had shown Dorian the flat. Dorian had really liked the sofa, where they'd lingered over their drinks, making out until James had got over most of his embarrassment and awkwardness. But the highlight of the visit had been the bedroom. The morning after he'd awoken to deep kisses and more mind-blowing sex.

* * *

And so it began, the relationship slowly unfolding as if it were real: it would have looked like a real courtship to anyone who didn't know what the score was. It would have felt romantic—had James had a romantic streak. But he knew what was real and what wasn’t—and true reality was better, and felt more reassuring: the sex was outstanding and so was Dorian's breeding. James'd expected some vulgar, flashy lowlife, but he'd got what looked and felt like a Lord. Value for money.

Take that morning, for example. James had woken up early, as it was his habit, and scrutinised the beauty of the man sleeping next to him. Case in point. Why would someone like Dorian have anything to do with someone like him, if not for the money? Most people would have judged James cold—but what did it matter? At the end of the day, things were working very well—even if it was for monetary reasons. Most people would think it was not that good. But maybe they didn't really know what pragmatism was like.

Then Dorian had awoken, made slow, tender love to him, and held him afterwards. James rested his head on the fine pillow that was Dorian's shoulder, and wondered what Dorian thought, and felt, about their arrangement. Whether he was thinking of his bank account while having sex. Which was all right, actually. James thought of his bank account a lot, even a few times while having sex. Yet, Dorian had never once talked about money. Like a real Lord, for whom money was beneath him.

James blinked for just a moment, and then he realised he had actually dozed off for longer than he thought. He tsked and got out of bed. Dorian turned over and mumbled something that sounded like a question. James, already intent on his morning routine, explained quickly. "Got to get ready, I have a morning meeting with an Italian customer about a cruise."

* * *

James took off his shoes and sat up on the large bed, leaning with his back against the padded headboard—hard to believe they were on a yacht and not at the Hilton. But of course Volovolonte always went for the best and flashiest. James watched intently as Dorian fetched them drinks and joined him. His hair was lovely, tangled by the breeze from when they had been on deck with Volovolonte; and his nose sported a few sun-induced freckles. James shook his head as if to clear it. Time to lay out Volovolonte's offer. Request. Demand.

Dorian smiled and sat cross-legged on the bed, playing with his tonic water, tracing idle patterns with his thumb on the condensation sweating the bottle. James opened his Coca-Cola can, the ring popping with a loud noise, and sipped fastidiously.

Dorian stood and got them a couple of straws, carefully choosing a yellow one for himself, and a white one for James. Without turning, he said: "Out with it. What do you want that you can't bring yourself to ask?"

James took a deep breath. "Volovolonte said he's invited a friend of his over from New York. It's important that we treat him well. Be friendly. Very friendly."

Dorian set the bottle on the counter, slowly and carefully. "I assume it's an offer we can't refuse."

"Yes. If we don't do what he wants, Volovolonte will get upset. Which is not a situation we want to be in." He paused. "I'm sorry."

Silence fell. Dorian poured what was left of his tonic water into a tall glass, and added a splash of gin. The line of his back was tense. James felt an answering tightness inside his own chest. "I understand. It's distasteful."

"It's not that—" Dorian downed his drink. "Never mind."

* * *

James tossed and turned in the large bed. Just because he was a realist, he didn't have to like the situation. And he didn't. At some point in their relationship, the lines had started to blur. A good pretence was indistinguishable from the real thing. Dorian was his lover, and it hurt to know that he was currently in Lupinacci's bed. And Lupinacci was most likely very good in bed; he looked like it. James had no illusions that he was a sex god—but he wasn't that bad either. He had made progress, under Dorian's gentle tutoring.

A desolate thought passed through his head: what stopped Dorian from switching allegiances? Lupinacci could easily match Dorian's current keep. And what could James do? Lupinacci was a very dangerous man. This was all about self-preservation: yet James felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Then he shook his head, and shoved his feelings into a corner. Work was work—not all jobs were equally easy or palatable. James closed his eyes, and once again tried to fall asleep over what felt like quiet mourning.

*

Meals were painful. Their arrangement had required for Dorian to be a good boyfriend; and Dorian was. A flawless impression. Yet, while he played perfect boyfriend over the table, he'd go to Lupinacci's cabin each night. It hurt more than it should have.

And James's unease was shading into fear a little more each day. It was supposed to be a one-off. Or was it? They hadn't said as much. He'd assumed. But surely Lupinacci would tire easily—he had everything. Any toy he wanted. But what if— James's mind baulked at the direction his fears were taking him, yet it could not help returning to them. What if Lupinacci wanted to keep his toy? What could stop him? What could prevent him from taking Dorian with him to New York? And what then, if—when—Lupinacci got tired of the game?

* * *

James looked at the cascade of bright curls draped over Dorian's shoulders and back, and said nothing. They were not saying very much these days; when they happened to cross each other in the cabin, a sense of quiet sadness swamped the room—so they went about their business quietly, discreetly, trying not to look at each other—like just now. James sat at his desk, trying to be absorbed in his papers, and Dorian toyed with the straw hat he was holding in his hands, checking for snags in the weaving. Without turning, he lowered the hat, and almost casually he said: "Lupinacci asked me to go to New York with him."

James put his pen down, staring at it. After a while, he spoke. "What did you say?"

Dorian exhaled. "I said no."

"Oh." James turned his eyes away from his pen and looked up. And he found himself face to face with Dorian, who had gently set down his hat on the bed and walked up to the desk.

"Why?"

Dorian shrugged. "Because."

"Are we in trouble?"

"I doubt it. Lupinacci laughed, said it was very romantic of me, and that there's plenty of pretty fish in the sea."

James thought for a few moments. "Are you sure he wasn't pretending to avoid being humiliated?"

"He never bothered to hide his displeasure before."

James's eyes grew wide. "What did he do?"

"Nothing major. Please don't make that face. It was nothing. Slapping a dog for not doing a trick when ordered to do so."

Drawing a deep breath, James clasped his hands together until they were white from the pressure.

"Darling. Don't judge people by your standards. It's not even the first time it happened. Most powerful people feel entitled."

"I'll ruin him. I know enough about his business."

Dorian paled. "Absolutely not! I didn't spend a week in his bed keeping him sweet for him to kill you. Us."

James looked deeply into Dorian's eyes. Eventually, he nodded.

Dorian held his gaze. "Let's go back to London." Then he hesitated. "If you want me to come with you, that is. I'll understand if you'd rather not."

"Why?"

Dorian voice was soft. "Damaged goods?"

"If I wanted pristine, I wouldn't have chosen you."

Dorian winced, then he lowered his face and said nothing.

James visibly struggled with words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

And he really didn't, he realised. He took Dorian's hand. "The past doesn't matter. Pack your bags; it's time to go home."


End file.
